


follow the echo of my voice

by armillarysphere, vlieger



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-03
Updated: 2013-03-03
Packaged: 2017-12-04 04:41:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/706674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/armillarysphere/pseuds/armillarysphere, https://archiveofourown.org/users/vlieger/pseuds/vlieger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jeff said, "But I can't slack off, or-- " and stopped abruptly.</p><p>"Or what?" said Mike quietly.</p><p>Jeff sighed and said, "Or-- fuck," scrubbing a hand through his hair, "Fuck, it's so dumb. Or they'll send me away."</p>
            </blockquote>





	follow the echo of my voice

Mike noticed something was weird with Jeff a couple days into camp. It wasn't _bad_ \-- or well, it was, but it was the kind of bad that seemed like it was only just starting out, which meant that no one else thought anything was up just yet. Mike didn't really expect them to though; he knew Carts better than anyone, and the barely-perceptible tightness around his eyes, their kind of manic brightness as he pushed himself and _pushed himself_ on the ice, was something it took years of friendship to notice, years of watching someone the way no one else did.

To everyone else it probably just looked like Jeff was super committed to playing well.

Which he always was, that wasn't the problem, it was just the way he was doing it.

He didn't-- Jeff hadn't said anything though, and as far as Mike was aware nothing had _happened_ , so he didn't really know what to read into it. Like, maybe it _was_ just him putting in some extra hard work at the start of a new season with a new team, making sure he was ready to go in the starting lineup. But then-- he was going kind of overboard in a way he wouldn't normally, a way he didn't need to; a way that Mike thought meant there was something more to it. And it was the look that really got Mike, at the end of it all. It wasn't his regular going hard look, it was his _there's something up and I'm putting it into training_ look.

It was just that, well, as far as Mike knew, Jeff had never had a problem he didn't tell Mike about straight away. Or pretty much straight away. He didn't usually leave time for Mike to really worry about it, anyway. Jeff was _really_ bad at hiding how he was feeling, and even if he wasn't, they were just-- it was _them_ , which meant that Jeff knew Mike had his back, and he knew Mike was good at making him feel better, so he usually just told him.

Like, not knowing things about the other, it was-- they both kind of hated that, especially now, so.

He didn't fuck around between when he noticed and asking Jeff about it.

He just glanced over at him when they were both settled on the bed in his room, watching TV, and said, "Hey, is something going on with you, Carts?"

Jeff blinked, his squint smoothing out a little, and said, "No," sounding genuinely surprised.

Mike rolled his eyes. "You look-- weird. Like, kinda strung-out, bit crazy."

Jeff scrubbed a hand through his hair. "It's nothing," he said. "I just-- working hard, you know?"

Mike pursed his lips doubtfully."You getting enough sleep?" he said.

"Like you wouldn't know if I wasn't," said Jeff, turning back to the TV.

Mike hitched a half-smile. That was true. He elbowed Jeff. "You sure, Carts? That you're okay, I mean."

"Yeah," said Jeff.

"Okay," said Mike slowly. "I'm watching you though."

Jeff rolled his eyes, and some of the tension left his face.

*

It came back though, and he kept pushing himself with this weird, wild-eyed energy that just wasn't quite right, frantic and buzzing through his movements. Mike couldn't figure it out, because usually when Jeff was getting self destructive it affected his play negatively, and he was doing super well right now, out-skating everyone, impressing coach, but just.

Mike _knew_ there was something up, and it was really eating at him, the fact that Jeff wasn't _saying_ anything, just kept wearing himself a little thinner each time he went out on the ice.

Like, maybe he was just worried about his place on the team or something, but that was-- if that was the case, Mike didn't get _why_ Jeff hadn't said something, and _why_ he was even feeling that way in the first place. Like-- there was no doubt, in Mike's mind or probably anyone else's. Jeff was part of his line, part of what made them awesome.

He left it til they were back in LA, in a last-ditch hope that it was something to do with camp and just wanting really bad to impress or something, but Jeff didn't relax once they got back to Mike's place, so Mike cornered him in the hallway once it was dark out and he was thinking about heading up to bed, getting Jeff up against the wall and caging him with his body.

Jeff didn't try to get away, which was good, because that would signal a whole other level of something being wrong, and one thing Mike knew for certain about them, apart from _everything else_ , was that Jeff wouldn't push him away, no matter what he was thinking or dealing with. Not now, not after everything.

Mike knew that like he knew his own heartbeat.

Miike frowned at him and said, no fucking around, "What is _wrong_ with you, Carts?"

Jeff said, "Nothing," immediately, but he looked kind of caught.

Mike said, "Bullshit. I know you, Carts. There's something wrong and you're pushing yourself too hard. You need to relax or you're going to burn out really quick."

Jeff said, "But I can't slack off, or-- " and stopped abruptly.

"Or what?" said Mike quietly.

Jeff sighed and said, "Or-- fuck," scrubbing a hand through his hair, "Fuck, it's so dumb. Or they'll send me away."

He said it really quickly, eyes darting away, kind of embarrassed, like he thought it was stupid, and frustrated because he couldn't help it.

Mike just stared at him and eventually said, "That's-- Carts-- " and stopped too.

He moved to sit on the couch, frowning. That was-- he got it, sort of, that if Carts felt like that it'd be something to work at, a way to make himself feel better, safer, like he was actively doing something to not-- not get traded, or go through that whole thing again.

It was just that he didn't _need_ to, and Mike had no idea how to tell him that.

Or well, tell him that and make him _believe_ it. Because it was...logically he was doing great and had nothing to worry about, but it wasn't a logical thing.

Mike had been through the same experience with him, with the trade, so he got that completely.

He looked up, after a moment, and Jeff was still just standing in the doorway. "C'mere, Carts," he said, rolling his eyes and patting the cushion next to him.

Jeff sat, and Mike bumped his shoulder, said, "You're really bad at dealing with feelings, huh."

Jeff said, "Shut up," and Mike huffed a laugh, because yeah, it wasn't like he didn't know that.

He said, after another moment just thinking, wanting to make Jeff _understand_ , "Carts, you're already good. You're not gonna get traded, okay? They wanted you. You're _important_."

Jeff said, "I know, okay, I _know_ , but I can be better, I can make _sure_ \-- "

"Why would it be you?" Mike cut across. "What if I get traded?"

Jeff scoffed and said, "They picked you first over me, they're not gonna trade you. I-- I gotta deserve this, you know?"

Which was just-- fuck, Mike didn't-- he wasn't a feelings guy, okay, and he knew Jeff wasn't either, was possibly slightly worse, but fuck, look at how they'd both acted last time. Neither of them could be relied on to be emotionally stable here. But that was kind of-- that whole thing was kind of fucked up. Jeff shouldn't be thinking that when it wasn't _true_ , but Mike was the only one who got that it wasn't as easy or logical as just knowing that, so maybe he had to try, for Carts. He said quietly, laying a hand on his arm, "Carts. You deserve this. You _do_."

Jeff breathed out and said, "Yeah. I guess."

Mike said, "Shut _up_ , dumbass, you do, don't make me say it again."

Jeff was just silent, so Mike added, after a moment, "Look. Just relax a bit, okay, this is-- this is different, this isn't Columbus. You're gonna be great, _we're_ gonna be great. I got your back, okay? And you better have mine."

That made Jeff huff a laugh, and he said, "Yeah. I got you."

Mike nodded and said, "Good," and then, "God, Carts. You're kinda messed up."

Jeff just said, "Yeah," sighing and, "I just-- I can't, without you. Not again."

Mike shook his head and leaned in to kiss him, hot and claiming, cupping a hand over the back of Jeff's head, holding him there, holding him _tight_.

Words were not his strong suit, after all, and this-- he could show Jeff, like this, make him relax and make him understand, that this was theirs now, they had this, together.

"We got this, Carts," he said against Jeff's mouth, waiting for Jeff to nod, eyes closed, already so into it, before licking inside again, pushing in firm and bruising. He kissed him til he was pliant against Mike, eyes glazed and hips hitching towards him, and then added, "You're mine, okay? You're just-- it's gonna be fine. And even if-- we have this," and demonstrated _this_ by pushing Jeff all the way back onto the couch, grinding down with his weight.

Jeff’s arms came up around him straight away, hands settled in the dip of Mike’s spine as he pushed down. Mike bit into Jeff’s bottom lip, hard, and pulled back to let Jeff’s moan echo between them. “Yeah, Carts, come on. I wanna hear you,” Mike murmured as he went to kiss Jeff’s jaw, mouthing along the stubbled edge until he got to Jeff’s ear. “Fuck, I want the neighbors to hear you.”

They kept kissing, losing track of time and anything that wasn’t each other’s bodies. When he pulled away to breathe for a moment, Mike pushed his hands between them and got them under Jeff’s shirt, touching every inch he could reach. Jeff’s skin felt hot, almost feverish; sweat had begun to bead over the ridges of his abs and up to his chest. Mike thumbed his nipples and smiled at the shuddering groan he got out of Jeff. He did it again, sucking on Jeff’s neck at the same time, and felt Jeff’s skin tremble against his lips.

“Love you,” Mike heard himself say, and it was probably only the third time he’d ever said it out loud (the first after Jeff got traded back to him, and the second after they won the Cup), but, fuck, it never stopped being true. Jeff’s hands tightened their grip on the back of Mike’s shirt, and his eyes were wide when Mike looked at him, taking in the flush of his kiss-bitten mouth and the steady yet panted breaths that made Jeff’s chest heave. “Okay?”

Jeff nodded and licked his lips, pulling Mike’s shirt up and using it to maneuver him into another kiss. “Yeah, Richie. I-- I do too,” Jeff said, his fingers dragging up Mike’s back, bunching up his shirt until he sat back and yanked it off, dropping it down on the floor by the couch. He kept his weight across Jeff’s thighs, pinning him to the couch, and bent down, bringing his mouth to Jeff’s stomach.

“You’re mine,” Mike said again, pressing the words into Jeff’s skin, biting and sucking just next to his belly button until a livid red mark looked back at him. He wanted to cover Jeff in them, claim him with his mouth before he fucked him into next week. “Gonna show everyone this season.”

Jeff nodded and ran his fingers through Mike’s hair, arching up when Mike bit him again, just on the edge of his hipbone. Mike dragged his teeth over the mark, then licked his way across to Jeff’s other hip and did the same. He worked his way up over Jeff’s stomach, listening as Jeff’s breathing got more and more labored, his grunts and moans turning into whimpers. Mike hadn’t even really started yet.

“Yeah, Carts, that’s it,” Mike said as he pulled off of Jeff’s chest with a loud sucking noise; the white pressure marks of his teeth still showed around the fresh lovebite next to Jeff’s nipple. “Fuck, you look so good like this.” He ran a hand over Jeff’s torso, pressing each of the bites in turn, until Jeff’s hips were bucking hard underneath him.

“Richie, fuck-- fuck me, please,” Jeff moaned, his free hand moving between them to palm his cock through his pants.

“Yeah? That what you want?” Mike asked, even though he knew full well. He leaned in again and kissed the first mark he’d left on Jeff’s neck, covering Jeff’s hand on his dick and pressing down hard. “I want you to feel this on the ice tomorrow, Cartsy. Want you to always be able to feel me.”

Jeff moaned louder this time, his dick jerking under their joined hold. Mike moved to kiss his mouth again, biting at Jeff’s lips, down to his chin, his Adam’s apple. He kept rubbing Jeff through his jeans, ignoring the way his own cock was hard as fucking nails and pressed up tight against his zipper, and concentrated on getting Jeff to lose it.

“Richie, Richie, I’m gonna -- wait, my pants, fuck. Gonna come, Richie,” Jeff said, stammering and shaking apart under Mike. Mike closed his teeth around Jeff’s nipple and bit down as hard as he dared, and Jeff rocked up off the couch as he came, soaking the front of his jeans and yelling a hoarse sounding shout of Mike’s name. “Oh, God, _Mike_.”

The sound of his name -- his actual name, not whatever hockey-bestowed nickname -- coming out of Jeff’s mouth in that tone almost undid Mike and he had to take a second and close his eyes, breathing harshly into Jeff’s skin as he listened to Jeff come down from his high, small keening noises mixed with long sucking gasps for air. He extracted his hand from between them and scrabbled to get Jeff’s pants open, shifted down the couch a little way and bent to get his mouth on Jeff’s cock through his boxerbriefs.

“Oh, Jesus, Richie,” Jeff said, all but sobbing as Mike sucked the wet material into his mouth, tasting Jeff through the cotton. He pulled them down a little way with his teeth, then licked a stripe up along Jeff’s groin to his stomach. “Fuck. Fuck, you’re gonna kill me.”

“Carts,” Mike said, opening his jeans at last and getting a hand on his neglected dick. It jumped to meet his grasp eagerly, wet at the tip and twitching hot along the length. He settled himself over Jeff again and started jerking off, knowing it wouldn’t be long before he was coming. He wanted to see Jeff covered in it, wanted to press himself into Jeff’s fucking _pores_. “Cartsy. So good. Mine.”

“Yeah, Richie. Yours.”

And that was all it took. Mike came; one hand clutching the back of the sofa next to him, watching his come spurt out across Jeff’s chest, one drop landing on Jeff’s bottom lip that he leaned down to kiss away, grunting the last of his orgasm into Jeff’s mouth. He milked the last few drops out of his dick onto Jeff’s stomach, then trailed his fingers through the mess, pressing his thumb into the most purple hickey, on Jeff’s hip.

“Fuck,” Jeff said, still breathless, and whimpered again when Mike pressed harder, his nail catching on Jeff’s skin as he rubbed, smearing his come over Jeff’s belly.

Mike smiled, his heart beating hard and fast in his chest as he covered Jeff with his body again and kissed him, a lot softer than before, their lips barely touching. “Shower, Carts. You’re filthy.”

Jeff grinned up at him, wide and bright, even though his eyes were sleepy. “I wonder whose fault that is.”

*

Mike considered himself pretty good at focusing on nothing but hockey when he was on the ice. It was easy because it was _hockey_ , and there wasn't much that meant more. The only thing that did, pretty much, that was bigger than all the ice he'd ever skated on put together, was Jeff.

Which was-- Jeff was so loose and languid at their next practice, free-flowing and still so _good_ , and Mike couldn't stop staring. He'd lost that buzzing, desperate edge, and Mike felt kind of stupidly, helplessly proud, because he'd _done_ that. Plus there was-- occasionally, between drills, Jeff would shift and bite down on his lip like the edge of one of his pads had caught just so on one of Mike's hickeys, and that was, well-- really fucking distracting.

It wasn't obvious unless you knew what to look for, but fuck, did Mike _know_.

He just wanted to get Jeff bare, laid out under him so he could _look_ , writhing and desperate for Mike to touch him, mark him up some more, show how Jeff was _his_.

Jeff skated up to him while he was contemplating this, hip-checking him sharply back into focus, and said, "Stop looking so smug, asshole."

Mike let the corner of his mouth curl up and said, "Then stop looking so good for me, Carts."

Jeff ducked his head, blushing, and muttered, "Asshole," again as he skated off.

Mike let himself grin properly then.

*

They took Arnie for a walk after practice. It was nice; part of their routine, and Mike was just happy to keep on doing this all day anyway, enjoying Jeff like this, loose and happy.

He stuck close to Jeff's side as they jogged laboriously after Arnie through the sand, panting loud over the sound of the waves, sweaty elbows knocking together, sand itching at their feet.

"Fuck," said Mike, stopping and dropping his hands to his knees, drawing in deep breaths.

"Been slacking off your conditioning, Richie?" said Jeff, raising an eyebrow.

"Right," said Mike dryly, pointedly eyeing the beads of sweat catching on Jeff's stubble, pooling in the hollow of his throat, the flush everywhere his skin was exposed.

Jeff just grinned brightly.

"Ugh," groaned Mike. "Arnie, c'mere!"

Arnie came, because Mike had an awesome dog, and he scratched absently between his ears.

"Water?" he suggested, looking up at Jeff.

"Sure," said Jeff, starting to head in that direction. "Arnie, swimming, come on, buddy!"

They stood ankle-deep in the foam while Arnie ventured in deeper, arms pressed together, squinting into the sun. Mike turned on impulse, after a moment, so he was facing Jeff, and reached out to drag his fingers curiously over his t-shirt where it clung loosely to his chest.

Jeff jerked against his hand. "Fuck, Richie," he breathed, licking his lips.

Mike smiled slowly and did it again. Jeff closed his eyes, biting down on a groan.

"Were you feeling this all day, Carts?" said Mike, voice low.

Jeff nodded. "Yeah," he said. "God, I-- yeah."

"Yeah?" murmured Mike, circling a thumb around Jeff's nipple, dragging the fabric over it slowly, and pressing into the hickey he knew was just there to the side, purple and livid.

" _Mike_ ," hissed Jeff, hands clenching like he wanted to reach out.

"Did you think about this on the ice?" said Richie, dragging his fingertips down the centre of Jeff's chest. "Could you feel me out there, every time you moved?"

Jeff's whole body shuddered under his hand. "Mike-- "

"Could you?" growled Mike, trailing his hand back up to pinch one of Jeff's nipples.

" _Yes_ ," hissed Jeff, glaring.

"Okay," said Mike easily, grinning and dropping his hand, stepping away from Jeff.

"I-- what?" said Jeff, blinking slowly, a bit dazed. Fuck, that was hot.

"Come on, Carts," said Mike, whistling for Arnie. "Let's go home."

Jeff groaned and said, "I hate you so fucking much," but he fell into step beside Mike easily, elbowing Mike and shaking his head with a dumb smile threatening the corners of his mouth.

*

Mike kind of loved the way it kept sneaking up on Jeff, was the thing.

The way Jeff groaned and arched into him immediately when Mike caught him for a quick kiss in the hallway, holding onto his hip and stroking his thumb over the mark there.

The way he kept dragging his own fingers absently over his chest while he cooked dinner, pressing down a little, biting his lip.

Just-- just seeing the way Jeff kept being reminded all over again, couldn't escape it.

He wanted to draw it out, keep watching, keep seeing Jeff's eyes go dark, the way every now and then he pressed the heel of his palm to his half-hard dick, just relieving the pressure.

Like he was waiting for Mike to really _do_ something to get him off.

It was so fucking hot, and a little bit overwhelming too, the way he felt almost overpowered by the desire to have Jeff like this all the time, always feeling Mike on his skin, always just a little bit on edge, worn thin in the best kind of way by the constant sparks of sensation.

Mike kind of wanted to find out how long Jeff could go like this, how much it would take before he lost it, had to get himself off to the feel of Mike's bites and bruises all over his skin.

He also-- he wanted to see that too, right fucking now, Jesus Christ.

*

He lasted another forty-five minutes, which he figured was as long as any sane person could take.

"Hey," he murmured then, pressing up against Jeff's back as he rinsed their dishes in the sink.

Jeff hummed, leaning back into him a little, and Mike bit a grin into the nape of his neck, pressing his hand flat to Jeff's stomach, warm and easy for a moment, before he pressed in firm and dragged it all the way up his chest, scratching with the fabric under his palm.

Jeff bucked up immediately, groaning, the plate in his hand slipping with a clatter.

"Fuck," he gasped. "Richie, _don't_ , you asshole."

"Don't?" said Mike curiously, rubbing over Jeff's sternum. "Thought you liked it, Carts."

"I-- _oh_ , Jesus, I _do_ , but I'm trying to-- "

"Leave it," said Mike, and Jeff just...sighed, pressing back into him helplessly.

"Yeah, okay," he said.

"Good," said Mike. He guided Jeff back a little, away from the sink, still with his back pressed to Mike's chest. He trailed a firm line again all the way up from his waistband to the collar of his shirt, and murmured, "That's it, show me," when Jeff's hips stuttered.

"Mike," said Jeff.

"Mmm," said Mike, mouthing wet just under his hairline, scraping his nails along Jeff's collarbone.

" _Mike_ ," said Jeff, breath catching.

"What?" said Mike. 'What do you want, Carts? Tell me."

"I want-- fuck, _God_ , I want-- "

"Wanna know what I want?" whispered Mike, and Jeff groaned, nodded, eyes squeezed shut.

"Wanna watch you get yourself off for me," said Mike, and Jeff's eyes flew open. "You like the sound of that, Carts? Been thinking about it all day. The way you look every time you're feeling it-- God, did you even know you've been half-hard the whole time?" He dropped his hand to cup Jeff's dick, fully hard now, hot and straining. "Wanna see how much you love it, love how I mark you up. You look so good like this, Carts. You look like _mine_."

"I," croaked Jeff, pushing into his hand, writhing and clutching at Mike's forearms when he scratched over his nipples, "I-- oh, fuck, Richie, _fuck_ , I am, I want-- "

"Come on," said Mike, catching one of his wrists and tugging him around, down into a slow, wet kiss. "Bed. Wanna see you spread out for me, see everywhere that's been driving you crazy all day. You gonna show me, Cartsy?"

"Yes," said Jeff, groaning. "Yeah, okay, I can-- I'll show you, fuck."

"Good," said Mike, pulling him towards the stairs.

Jeff sprawled out on the bed straight away, mouth open, watching Mike, and Mike sucked in a breath, gut-punched the way he sometimes was about how Jeff let him _have_ this.

He stripped Jeff out of his clothes, going slow, letting it all drag, making him gasp and writhe.

Then he sat back on his heels and said, "Do it, show me."

Jeff groaned like he was dying and grasped his cock desperately, jerking himself fast and tight, no build-up, like he'd just been _waiting_ for Mike to tell him.

His hand was splayed over his chest, and Mike watched, fascinated, as it trailed to each of the livid purple lovebites in turn: his hips, his belly, either side of his nipples, his collarbones, his neck. He wasn't gentle with himself, pushing in hard, punishing, making the surrounding skin pink and angry-looking, hissing and jerking his hips up into his fist.

"So fucking hot, Carts," whispered Mike. "So gorgeous. Love you like this, all messed up for me. Want this all the time. Want you to feel me _all_ the time. Just me."

"Yeah," gasped Jeff wetly, matching the slick sound of his hand on his cock. "Just you. Richie. Just-- _oh_ , God."

Mike bit his lip hard, thumbing his jeans open to tug his cock out and start jerking himself slowly, holding himself back, eyes on Jeff's dick fucking up into his fist, dripping precome onto his stomach, the marks there, filthy, _beautiful_. He arched his back, a long, desperate line.

"Richie," he moaned, when he looked over and saw Mike jacking himself.

"So hot," said Mike again, pushing his hips a little, letting Jeff see the fat head of his cock push through his fingers. "You like that?"

"Yeah," said Jeff, licking his lips.

"Gonna come all over you," said Mike. "Fucking rub it into you, _mark_ you-- "

Jeff sobbed out a groan, keening, and came all over himself.

Holy _shit_. Mike stared, hand stuttering and stilling on his dick.

Jeff's was still working frantically, milking it, the other digging nails-first into the bite-mark Mike had left on the softest part of his belly.

"Fucking hell, Carts," he breathed, shuffling closer, knees pressing up against Jeff's side.

"Gonna follow through?" said Jeff, looking up at him with blown, glassy eyes, slow and drunk-sounding. "Gonna come all over me? Do it, Richie, come on, I want it, I-- "

" _Fuck_ ," hissed Mike, bracing himself with a hand on Jeff's hip.

It was damp under his palm, tacky with Jeff's come. He squeezed a little, spreading it around, rubbing it in, watching the way Jeff twisted his neck and said, "Want yours, come on, come _on_."

"I got you, Carts," said Mike, breathing out a little shakily, because God, this was-- _Jeff_ was too much for him sometimes, not in the kind of way where any part of him was more than Mike could handle, but where he was too much like everything Mike ever wanted.

It was so fucking overwhelming, threatening to break him apart.

He pulled his lip between his teeth, stroking himself over Jeff, and let go of his hip to scrape his nails upwards along one of his own thighs, trying to stall the orgasm coiling spring-tight and brutal at the base of his spine. He wanted to draw it out, have Jeff spread out like this for him just a little while longer, sated and wrecked and _his_.

Fuck though, he couldn't-- Jeff was pushing his hips up encouragingly, waiting for Mike, and that was-- Jeff wasn't going anywhere, that was the whole _point_ , and he looked so good, just for Mike, and Mike-- he groaned, the red lines from his nails flaring painfully on his skin, rolling his balls in his hand, and came all over Jeff's chest, his neck, a few drops landing on his chin and lips.

"Fuck yeah, Mike," breathed Jeff, stretching lazily, blissed-out.

He poked his tongue out to catch some of Mike's jizz on his bottom lip.

Mike made a strangled noise and leaned down to kiss him, lick it up slowly. He guided him with a hand on his jaw, keeping his head tilted back, stroking himself slowly with the other, dragging the jizz back into Jeff's mouth and pressing the taste of himself in.

"Oh my God, Mike," said Jeff.

Mike hummed into his mouth, melting into it a bit.

"Love you," murmured Jeff, bringing a hand up to hold the back of his neck.

Mike blinked, because he knew that, obviously, but Jeff hardly ever actually _said_ it, let alone unprompted. It was just the way Jeff was, so Mike didn't care at all, didn't _need_ it, but...fuck. He pulled back, grinning. "Wow, Carts," he said. "Maybe we should do this more often."

"Shut up," mumbled Jeff, blushing. Mike grinned harder and nudged their foreheads together. "I just-- I do."

"I know," said Mike. He pulled Jeff's bottom lip between his teeth, sucking briefly, then stretched out to lie next to him, tucking his arms behind his head and swinging a leg over Jeff's. "Clean up in ten minutes," he said, yawning.

Jeff huffed an easy laugh, elbowing Mike, and settled in, soft and boneless, next to him.


End file.
